The Hound of Winterfell
by jayellezee
Summary: What if Sansa left with Sandor Clegane during the Battle of Blackwater?
1. Chapter 1

What if Sansa went with Sandor during the battle of blackwater?

Disclaimer: Neither characters nor the world of Westeros belong to me.

* * *

Prologue:

Sansa bit her lip, her mind running over all of her options, which admittedly, were few. The large man in front of her gave an exasperated sigh.

"Fine, girl. Stay. Let it be your own funeral," he said, his voice full of venom. He moved towards the door with long strides, so when Sansa made up her mind, she had to almost run to catch his arm. When her hand landed on his armor, he looked down at her hand with what she thought was either surprise or irritation.

"I'll go with you!" she said, her voice embarrassingly desperate. He raised his eyes to her face and stared hard at her. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke.

"Alright, girl. Let's go," he said.

* * *

It had been two days since that night, and the two unlikely traveling companions had covered a vast swath of land, mostly to the credit of Clegane keeping up a punishing pace. His terrifying warhorse, Stranger, had no trouble traveling for miles on end, and he had pulled a small but fast mare for Sansa from the stables when they fled that managed to keep up.

Since they had left, they had hardly spoken a handful of words to one another, and Sansa couldn't help but wonder if she'd made a mistake. She thought they were traveling north, perhaps a bit northwest, but couldn't really tell. The out of doors had never been her strong suit. The dull throbbing in her tailbone and hips from the extended periods of riding was steady a reminder of that. She had been mulling over a question in her head for nearly the entire day, and finally pulled the courage from within her to ask it.

"Where… where exactly are we going?" she said, her voice timid. The Hound rode ahead of her and didn't answer. Sansa gritted her teeth and tried again.  
"Where are we going?"

"I heard you the first time, girl," he snapped. Sansa waited. After several moments, she spoke again.

"Well?" she asked, trying to sound brave and defiant in that single word. She had chosen to go with this man, and she could be frightened of him for the rest of their journey, or she could choose to ignore his stormy demeanor and press on. In all honesty, The Hound didn't frighten her nearly as much as he should have.

She felt certain that something different than the dark cloud of a man in front of her lay beneath his exterior. After another long pause she was about to speak again when he spoke.

"I'm not fucking sure," he growled.

"I… what?" Sansa said, caught entirely by surprise.

"I don't fucking know. North, I guess. To your idiot family, if they still live. Perhaps they'll pay me handsomely for returning their little bird," he snarled the nickname as if it was the foulest thing he could think of. Sansa felt stung by his response.

"And if they aren't alive?" she pushed, trying to sound haughty, as if the prospect of her entire family being dead didn't make her want to come undone right there.

"I'll sell you to a brothel," he snapped. Sansa felt her cheeks burning.

"You wouldn't dare, ser. You know I am a highborn lady!"

"Aye, and so they'd pay highly for you. And I'm not a ser, as I've fucking told you before," he said, his voice icy. She glared at him.

"Clearly not," she said primly, spurring her horse to pass his. She rode ahead of him for the next several miles, and was certain she could feel his dark and angry gaze on the back of her head, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of turning around.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning they woke early. The air was cold and Sansa felt damp to the bone under her cloak. The dew had settled on her in dawn hours and soaked through the fabric, leaving her chilled. She sat up, stretching her back out in a graceful arch, satisfied to hear a number of small pops as her spine aligned. When she looked up, she was surprised to find Clegane was looking straight at her. He looked chagrined at being caught studying her, and immediately busied himself packing up their gear from the night before. Sansa shrugged and began to gather her things when she heard him bite out a string of nasty curses.

"Did you never learn to tie a fucking knot in your life, stupid girl?" he shouted at her from across the clearing. Surprised, Sansa looked up. Her heart sank when she realized that her little mare was nowhere to be seen.

"I… well. No. I've never tied up a horse before. I'm sorry." she said, rising to her feet, her stomach hot with dread.

"Of course you never have. This is my own fucking fault. Why would the little bird deign to tie up her own animal when she has servants to do it for her," he snarled. Sansa started to grow angry.

"I'm sorry I grew up as the daughter to a lord. I can't help that I was never allowed to do anything for myself!" she snapped. This man was insufferable. She had felt herself lose her temper more often in his company than any other person she could think of, besides, perhaps, her sister. He looked surprised at her outburst.

"Little bird, grown in a gilded cage," he muttered, seemingly to himself. Sansa ignored him and continued to pack up her things.

"So we'll walk?" she asked when they were ready to leave. He rolled his eyes.

"Don't be stupid, girl. We're being pursued by a bunch of killers who want to bring you back to the king. This isn't some picnic with Margaery Tyrell. Seven hells," he barked. With that, he strode over to her and picked her up by the waist, depositing her with seemingly no effort onto Stranger's back, and then pulled himself up behind her.

Sansa sat stiffly, her back straight, inches from Clegane's armored chest. She let out a surprised yelp when she felt his metal clad arm wrap around her waist and pull her solidly back against him.

"You won't thank yourself for sitting like that for the entire day. Lean back and you'll save your bones some pain," he said gruffly. Sansa was surprised to find there was almost a gentleness to his words. She wanted to study his face to see what expression she would find, but there was no way to do so without craning her neck, so she allowed herself to settle back into his solid form. Perhaps his armor didn't make for the most comfortable backrest, but he was certainly right that it was preferable to keeping her back ramrod straight.

* * *

Several hours later, Sansa blinked awake. She was surprised to find that she had fallen asleep rather quickly after starting their journey that day.  
"You're awake," The Hound's low voice rumble from behind her.

"I… yes. I apologize for sleeping," she said, embarrassed at giving him yet another reason to think she was weak and useless. To her surprise, he laughed.

"Don't apologize, little bird. It's clear you needed the rest. It seems your nightmares have not been allowing you to sleep as deeply as you ought," he said. Sansa's brow furrowed.

"How do you know I have nightmares?" she couldn't help asking. He was silent for a long moment and Sansa was about to change the subject when he spoke.

"You call out in your sleep," he said gruffly. Sansa felt her face go red. She could only imagine what she had been heard crying out.

"I apologize if it has woken you, ser," she said.

"I'm no ser," he said, but it didn't seem to hold as much acidity as it had in the past.

"Then please, tell me what I should call you?" she said, her voice hopeful. There was something in him she couldn't put a finger on, but she was certain he was not a bad man, and she'd rather have him as a friend than not.

"The Hound. The king's dog. Dog. I don't care," he said. Sansa chewed her lip.

"I won't call you ser, but I won't call you those vile nicknames either. I don't ever want to think of Joffrey again, if I can help it," she said. He waited so long to speak she thought the subject was closed, until he cleared his throat.

"Sandor," he said. She tilted her head back and up to look at him.

"Alright. Sandor, then," she said, studying his face from below. His face looked more at ease than she'd ever seen it, and it made it quite easy to look past his gruesome scars. He had quite a nice face, Sansa decided. The scars were bad, yes, but they didn't bother her so much as the permanent scowl that always seemed to darken his brow. She could feel him growing uncomfortable beneath her gaze so she turned to face forward again.

"You didn't have any nightmares today," he said after a minute or two of riding in silence.

"Oh. I suppose I didn't," she said, pleasantly surprised to realize he was right. During her nap on the horse she hadn't had a single dark dream of Joffrey or King's Landing.

"That's good," Sandor said, clearing his throat again.

"I suppose I felt safe," Sansa said, letting a small smile pass over her face. Sandor didn't reply, but she felt certain she felt him pull her a little closer, and she suddenly felt happier than she had in a while.


	3. Chapter 3

That evening, when they stopped to camp, Sansa felt more relaxed than she had in months. She hummed to herself while stoking the fire, feeling as though she might be able to coax Sandor into some sort of pleasant conversation to pass the time. Before she could attempt it, Sandor finished tying up Stranger and announced that he was going hunting.

"I won't be far. Call for me if anything happens," he said, his eyes as gentle as she'd ever seen them.

"I will," she replied, offering him a bright smile that seemed to both startle and please him. After he left, Sansa considered her options. The fire was strong enough that it didn't need to be tended, and she thought she heard the gentle sound of running water past the treeline, and washing up sounded awfully nice.

Several yards from the clearing, Sansa discovered a small creek with cool, clear water running through it.

She bit her lip, thinking about how long it would take Sandor to hunt and finally decided she had enough time for a quick bath. The sun had not yet set and the water held a hint of the warmth from the day. Sparkling birdsong came from overhead and the sound of a gentle breeze through the leaves in the trees around her made for a most idyllic setting, and Sansa couldn't help but let a large smile overtake her face as she removed her dress and underthings. The creek only came up to her waist and she had to sit down to get her hair wet. It felt so good to finally scrub some of the dirt and sweat off her person that had accumulated over the last days of hard travel that she forgot to pay much attention to the wilderness around her. When she finally stood to wade back to the side of the creek to dry off and retrieve her clothing, she was startled to hear a gruff voice.

"Where the fuck are you, little bird? You can't run off like-" Sandor's words cut off abruptly as he came out of the trees and saw her glistening body in the light of the rapidly setting sun. Mortified, she wrapped her thin arms around her chest, feeling her face flaming. His eyes traveled up from her waist and finally locked onto her eyes, grey clashing with blue. His mouth still was open a bit, as if he were about to speak, but after staring at her for a moment longer he snapped it shut, and spun around heading back towards camp, calling over his shoulder as he made his swift departure.

"Get back to camp." Sansa stood as he left, feeling absolutely idiotic. Why hadn't she assumed Sandor would immediately come looking for if she noticed she was gone? And now he's seen her as good as naked, though she had to remind herself to be thankful that the water had covered her lower half… But he had seen her embarrassingly tiny chest, and he had stared at her as if she were something he wanted to scrape off his shoe. She'd heard of the exploits of Sandor Clegane in the brothels of King's Landing, but he was always so disinterested in her that she never thought to worry about her virtue as she traveled alone with him. It occurred to her now that that was an accurate assumption. She was surprised to find the realization hurt. As she dried off and got dressed she tried to shake the thought away.

Why should she care if Sandor found her attractive?


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa was taking her sweet time coming back to camp, Sandor thought, grumbling under his breath as he stomped around the campfire, roasting a hare he had caught moments before. He supposed he couldn't blame her for being embarrassed, having an old dog like him seeing her naked as the day she was born. And naked she had been… he allowed his thoughts to drift for a second to how beautiful the girl had looked standing in the creek, like some ancient wood nymph or water sprite. Her normally shockingly red hair had been darkened to a deep ruby by the water, and her fair skin had simply glowed under the sinking sun's light.

Despite that, her wide blue eyes had been what he remembered now the most. They had been startled and ashamed, but he was almost certain they hadn't been frightened. It made him feel stupid to realize how much that meant to him. Years of women staring at him in abject terror made it feel like the greatest gift that the delicate Stark girl wasn't frightened of him. He shook the thoughts away as he heard her picking her way through the forest back to their site. It might have meant something to him that she wasn't scared, but it also meant that she was an idiot. As she stepped tentatively into the ring of light that the fire provided in the deep blue dusk, Sandor stormed across the clearing and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"What the fuck were you thinking? I've said it before, this isn't some fucking holiday you're on with your knight in shining armor. What if the king's men had found you in that creek? Do you think the king ordered them to do anything but bring you back? I guarantee there's no protection on your virtue, little bird. They would have raped you, one after the other and then dragged your broken body back to King's Landing for that cunt of a king to do what he pleased with you," he snarled, shaking her to emphasize his words. Sansa's eyes were sparkling with tears by the time he pushed her away from him.

She didn't reply, just bit her lip to keep it from trembling, which Sandor tried to ignore, and went to sit quietly by the fire. A while later, when they had finished their food (which Sandor had basically thrown at her, ignoring the pang of sympathy he felt when the hot meat burnt her fingers, causing her to yelp out) Sansa stood up to go to her bedroll, but paused to speak.

"You're right. What I did was stupid. But you must know, you are as good as any knight in shining armor. I feel entirely safe with you protecting me. But I'll be more careful in the future, I promise you," she said quietly. Sandor felt like he'd been punched in the stomach by her words. How did this little bird have such an effect on him? She might not be frightened of him, but he was quickly growing scared of her.

"I'm not a fucking knight, and not as good as either. The only reason I haven't raped and killed you is because you're going to go for a pretty price to the wolves up North. Don't forget it," he growled, storming off into the woods. It was an utter lie, of course. In all that Sandor had done for the idiot king, he had never raped a woman, and he never would. But it would do well for the girl to remember she wasn't traveling with an honorable man.

When she let her guard down, she put herself in danger, and Sandor wasn't willing to let that happen.


	5. Chapter 5

As Sandor stormed out of the campsite, Sansa allowed her eyes to follow him. His last angry sentiment had been said in a rather lackluster manner, and Sansa found herself questioning the veracity of the statement. The more she considered it, the less she was convinced that Sandor would do anything to hurt her, no matter what her price was. She was starting to feel that when it came to her, the man was more bark than bite.

She was musing over these thoughts when she heard a twig snap behind her. Turning to make a snide remark to Sandor as he came slinking back to camp, Sansa was startled to instead see three rugged looking men emerging from the forest.

"Wot 'ave we 'ere?" the biggest one, blonde while the other two were black haired, said, leering at her. She weighed her options. She could scream for Sandor but that would alert them to the fact that she wasn't alone and would remove the element of surprise, which she was worried would be essential. The three men were quite large and looked vicious in a way that Sansa was not used to. She knew that Sandor was fearsome in battle, but three men against one still seemed like a risky bet.

"I'm meeting my husband at an inn tomorrow. The day got away from me," she spoke loudly, praying Sandor would hear and hoping the mention of a husband would make them lose interest. Unfortunately, their smiles only grew wider, showing an array of broken and black teeth. She squared her shoulders, and tried to look haughty.

"I demand you leave at once," she said, trying to sound bored. The men laughed, causing a chill to travel down her spine. What if Sandor wasn't as near as she'd hoped?

"I doubt it, girly. The boys an' me would like a little bit of hospitality, as it were," he said, moving towards her. She took a step back, and to her utter horror, tripped over a log putting her in a position of complete disadvantage. She didn't even have time to rise before one of them men leapt forward and pinned her down, forcing his mouth against her neck. The feeling of his hot breath on her skin made her retch. She desperately tried to fight him off, but he had an iron grip on her wrists and his weight held her legs down. The feel of his knee pushing roughly between her thighs caused her to panic and let out a high pitched keen, which seemed to only encourage the brute.

"That's right, love. I'll treat you right, I swear it," the man mumbled as his companions guffawed. The sudden sound of metal slicing through the air and connecting solidly with flesh caused her captor to look up. Sansa almost cried with relief when she looked past him to see the gutted corpse of one of the men next to Sandor who was now menacingly approaching the man on top of her.

"Get the fuck off of her right now and I'll make your death quick," he said, his voice low. Sansa felt strongly that if these men had any sense at all they would be terrified.

"We're just havin' a bit o' fun, mate. We'll share! We aren't picky," the man still holding her wrists said. Sansa saw Sandor's eyes flash. Neither of the two men seemed all that concerned about their fallen friend. Sandor continued to advance without speaking. When he stepped into the light, Sansa heard the other man gasp.

"Fuck sake, it's the Hound," he said, the first hint of fear entering his voice.

"The Hound?" the man above her said, his voice incredulous.

"The Hound," Sandor repeated in assent as he swung his sword down hard, cleaving the other dark haired man's head in two. The blood overspray reached so far that Sansa felt it on her face. Normally that would have caused her to gag or cry, but she was surprised to feel an aggressive pleasure at seeing each man get flattened by Sandor. The large blonde man seemed to finally be grasping the situation he was in, and in a swift movement that belied his size, he pulled her up in front of him, holding a sharp dagger to her throat, crushing her wrists in one hand behind her back. Her bones ground together and she was certain she'd be bruised if she made it through this ordeal.

"Not one step closer, Hound, or I'll kill your wife. I didn't know you were married," he mocked, pushing his tongue into her ear. The tears she had been holding back came, more out of complete disgust than fear. As Sandor watched the interaction, Sansa thought she saw a wash of cold fury travel over his face. His eyes narrowed for a moment, and then to her surprise, he made eye contact with her.

"Little bird. Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice as gentle as it could be given the situation. Sansa didn't even have to think.

"I do," she said. She thought she saw a small smile flit over his face, but before she could consider it further, she was stunned by the sound of an object whizzing past her, and felt the man's grip on her slacken. With the knife away from her throat, she launched away from him, only stopping to look at what had become of the man when she reached Sandor's side. The man had crumpled backwards, the handle of one of Sandor's knives protruding from his eye socket.

"Gods," Sansa said, her voice shaking.

"I wouldn't have hit you, little bird. I knew what I was doing," Sandor said defensively. Sansa looked up at him.

"No, it's not that. I'm just… I'm surprised at how happy I am to see them dead. You once said that killing a man is the sweetest thing there is… Do you think witnessing a man you hate die might come close?" she said, staring into his steely grey eyes. This time she was sure she saw a hint of a smile tug at his mouth.

"Aye, little bird. It might come close," he said, his voice holding a tinge of dark mirth.

"I'll get your knife back," she said, feeling braver than she should considering she had done none of the killing. She moved to step towards the dead man and felt herself grow startlingly dizzy. She felt her knees buckle beneath her and would have fallen to the ground if Sandor hadn't caught her and pulled her to his chest.

"Careful girl. You've had a shock," he said, his face inches from hers.

"I suppose I have," she replied, finding herself unable to focus on anything but his lips. They were lovely lips, she thought. None of the burns that marred his face had touched his mouth, and she imagined it would look quite nice if he ever actually smiled. The feel of his armor pressed against her felt comforting, but at the same time, she felt a tingle of something darker travel through her, a wanting that she couldn't pin point. His eyes searched hers.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice quiet. It occurred to her that if she raised on her toes and tilted her head up just a bit, she could catch his mouth in a kiss, and in that moment, it seemed as if that was the only thing she wanted, so she did. He didn't kiss her back. That was the first thing she noticed. He remained unmoving beneath her lips. The second thing she noticed was that his lips were incredibly soft, and she found herself wanting to fall into them. This kiss was nothing like the awful slimy kisses Joffrey had forced upon her. The dizziness passed and she reached up and wrapped her arms around the back of his neck. Unable to help herself she darted her tongue out and skimmed his lips, something Shae had told her about when they were gossiping late at night. The movement seemed to break Sandor out of his reverie and he firmly pushed her away from him.

"What are you doing, girl?" he snapped, pushing her back even further. Sansa was in a daze. He hadn't even kissed her back and it was the most pleasant thing she had ever done.

"I'm not sure," she said truthfully. Sandor studied her, and then she saw his face grow angry.

"You don't owe me a fucking for saving your life, girl. You'll pay me back in gold when I get you to your family," he said and stormed over to drag the bodies out of the clearing without another look in her direction.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day, they rode in total silence. Sandor couldn't help but notice that Sansa seemed even more familiar with him than she had the day before. Not only was she leaned back against him in the saddle, but she allowed her head to tilt back against him, making it impossible to avoid smelling her scent on her hair, something delicate and floral and intoxicating and entirely Sansa. He was trying his best not to think of the kiss last night. It had taken all of his self control not to grab her and bed her, and when she had let her tongue dart out against his lips the desire had hit him so hard he had seen spots behind his eyelids. But the thought that she was only kissing him because she felt she owed him something repulsed him. She was pure and small and lovely and kind, everything he was not, and she didn't deserve to lose all her prospects in a desperate attempt to keep him loyal to her. He was in the process of vowing that they'd find her a horse as soon as they could when she spoke.

"You tasted like lemons," she said, her voice musing. Sandor was so shocked she could've knocked him off Stranger if she had tried.

"I- what?" he said, immediately cursing himself for responding.

"When we kissed. You tasted like lemons. How come?" she asked. He was surprised into answering.

"I chew on dried lemon rinds throughout the day, I guess," he said, trying to sound as businesslike as he could despite the subject.

"Lemon is my favorite flavor. I love lemon cakes," Sansa said, leaning against him even more firmly.

"Well, it won't happen again," he said, trying to sound mean. Frightening people was what he did for a living, but something about Sansa made it a challenge.

"Why not?" she asked. He raised his eyebrows. His little bird was growing quite bold, he thought, and then immediately chastised himself internally for calling her _his_ little bird.

"Because I fucking told you, you don't owe me anything," he growled. She turned back to look up at him, her eyes serious.

"I don't think I owe you anything at all. I just wanted to kiss you. And I'm not sorry I did, in fact," she said and then turned back around, primly adjusting her cloak and leaving him in stunned silence.


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa had drifted into sleep that afternoon, and only woke when she felt Sandor dismount Stranger.

"Off you get, Little Bird," he said, and lifted her effortlessly from the saddle. As Sansa rubbed the bleariness of sleep from her eyes, she was delighted to find that they were not in a forest clearing, but instead in front of a small but clean looking in. Sandor saw her face light up, and snorted.

"Don't get used to it," he said, not unkindly. Sansa thought he might even be teasing her. A stable hand took Stranger, with no small amount of trepidation at the enormous horse's chuffing and nipping, and Sandor and Sansa made their way inside.

"Stay behind me, and if anything seems off, we leave," he muttered to her. She nodded, and took a step back, allowing him to shield her from sight. The innkeeper was a pleasant older woman who clucked in pity when Sandor said they'd been riding all day and promised to draw them a bath in their room while they ate.

"Just the one room, then, for you and your...wife, is it?" she asked, her eyes appraising the couple.

"Yes," Sandor said bluntly, offering no further explanation.

"Right then! Eat, rest. The bath will be ready in half an hour," the innkeeper said, waddling away as two bowls of stew were placed in front of them. Half an hour passed quickly in the warm dining room, and Sandor led her up the stairs to their room, his eyes alert. He did a quick scan of their room once inside, and moved to leave.

"Take your bath. I'll wait outside the door," he said. Sansa felt an inexplicable urge to stop him, and before she realized what she was doing, she spoke.

"No! Please don't go," she said, embarrassed at the slight whine in her voice. Sandor looked back at her as if she had two heads.

"You're taking a bath," he said, as if she were simple.

"I know, but… Last night frightened me. I'd feel safer if you were here…. and there's a screen!" Sansa said, gesturing at the screen that divided the steaming bath from the rest of the room. Sandor stared at her, nonplussed. When she just stared at him hopefully, he finally shrugged and sat down in a wooden chair and turned away from her. Sansa felt immeasurably pleased with turn of events and moved to take her bath with no further discussion.

The water felt heavenly, perfectly hot and clean, and the innkeeper had provided her with a light, pine scented soap that left her skin feeling marvelously soft. As much as she would have loved to stay soaking in the tub forever, she wanted to leave the water as hot as possible for Sandor, and so it wasn't long before she removed herself from the bath and dried herself off, dressing in a clean shift from her pack. She stood behind the screen for a moment, not sure what to do. She could put a dress on, of course, but she was about to sleep and it seemed to foolish to put her dusty riding dress on when she didn't have to. After a moment's more consideration she stepped out from behind the screen and carried on as if there was nothing odd about her state of undress. He had seen her naked already, after all.

"Your turn," she said brightly. He turned around and froze in place at the sight of her in the gauzy garment. His look of astonishment was quick to turn to a scowl.

"What do you think you're playing at, girl," he growled. She rolled her eyes.

"I'm not putting my filthy dress on over my nice clean shift when I've just had a bath, and I'm certainly not sleeping in it," she said primly, and proceeded to fold her dress, ignoring him. He stared hard at her, and then disappeared behind the screen in two long strides. It was silent for a long moment and then he stepped back out, looking exasperated.

"I'm not putting the dress on, Sandor," Sansa said firmly. He sighed.

"It's not that… I need you to take my armor off," he said. Sansa raised her head in surprise, and then felt like an absolute idiot.

"Of course! What was I thinking," she said, laughing a bit. It took no time at all to remove his armor and then she left the hulking man to his bath. She heard him splash into the water, and felt her cheeks go red with the realization that he was quite naked only a few lengths away from her. She tried to distract herself by mending a rip that her cloak had sustained the night before. Everytime she heard him moving, she pictured him in the bathtub, and she couldn't help but giggle at the thought of the large man folded in half and scrubbing his back. It startled her when she heard his voice from the other side of the screen.

"What are you laughing at, little bird?" she swallowed another giggle as she heard the sound of him removing himself from the water.

"Nothing," she said, a smile in her voice, before hearing him curse. "Are you alright?" she asked, rising to her feet.

"Yes… But I need your help. Those bastards got me last night," he snarled. Sansa felt her heart prick with worry at the thought of him being harmed, and didn't stop herself before she moved on light feet across the room and behind the screen. He was sitting on a small dressing stool with a linen towel wrapped around his waist, a hand at his neck. He looked up at her, exasperated.

"It can wait five minutes, little bird," he said, his voice slightly amused. Sansa felt her face grow warm, but couldn't tear her eyes away. She'd known the hound was huge, but she found herself surprised by the solid muscles across his chest and back. His arms, both upper and lower, were thick and outlined by sinew. Sansa didn't think the man could be made from anything but muscle, as far as she could tell. Coarse black hair covered his chest and scars of varying ages were scattered across his entire body, as far as she could tell.

"Seen enough?" Sandor said, and her eyes widened and met his gaze in embarrassment. How long had she been staring.

"I… I'm sorry, ser. Please, let me know how I can assist you when you're ready," she said, scurrying to the other side of the screen.

"I'm no ser," she heard him mutter.

Sansa sat on the bed, her hands folded, trying to look the picture of a polite young woman, but her thoughts were the furthest thing from those that a proper lady would have. Perhaps because he was nearly twice her age, Sansa had expected him to have the body of an old man, soft and padded like her father's. He was anything but. Sansa thought he was the exact image of what virility would look like, and she felt a strange stirring low in her belly as she brought the image of him sitting on the stool back to mind. Sandor chose that moment to step out from behind the screen in a clean tunic and breeches, and Sansa suddenly felt wicked, as though he could read her mind and would know exactly what she was thinking about. He sat down on the bed beside her and she jumped up, not sure what else to do. He gave her an odd look, and took his hand away from his neck.

"The first fucker got me, but I've been ignoring it all day. Didn't realize how deep it was until now. I cleaned it, but I need stitches, and it's not in good place…" he said, offering her thread and a needle. Sansa stared at him, her heart pounding. She could stitch him up, of course, but the thought of being that close, and touching his skin made her think things she wasn't certain how to process. After a long moment of silence, he growled, and rolled his eyes, moving to stand in front of a tiny clouded mirror.

"Should've known little bird couldn't handle some blood," he scoffed. Sansa shook her head, clearing her mind. Of course she could stitch him up, she was being stupid! There was nothing remotely romantic about stabbing a man with a needle, she told herself firmly.

"No, I can do it," she said, marching over and grabbing the needle and thread from his hands. She gestured for him to sit back on the bed and stood over him, inspecting the wound. It was clean and would be easy enough for her to bring the edges together, so without further ado, she began to place tiny stitches down the length of his neck near his collarbone. When all was said and done, the job probably only took her ten minutes, and when she handed him the mirror to inspect her work, he flashed her what could only be described as a charming grin.

"Little bird does much better work than I would have. Those are the neatest stitches I've ever seen! This will hardly scar, I'd wager," he laughed, and Sansa felt her heart swell at the compliment.

"Well, your neck is visible, so I thought you'd prefer not to have some giant…." she trailed off, realizing her mistake.

"A giant visible scar? What a tragedy that would be," he said wryly. She was relieved he didn't seem angry at the slip, but still felt terrible.

"I'm sorry, it's just. I don't notice your scars anymore. I forgot," she said, her voice small. He looked up at her sharply.

"You're telling me you don't notice this? That's a fucking laugh," he said, pushing his damp hair off the damaged side of his face, and turning it towards her. Sansa studied it for a second. The burns really were awful, but she realized she thought that not because they looked ugly, but because they looked as if they'd been terribly painful to receive, and picturing Sandor receiving them as a small boy at the hand of his own brother made her skin crawl. As if in a trance, she moved closer, lightly stepping between his knees, and reached her hand up, stopping just before making contact with his scars.

"Can I?" she asked. He stared at her, and where at first she thought she saw anger or annoyance, she realized she was seeing uncertainty. He made a rough sound of affirmation, and she closed the distance between her hand and his face. Her fingers touched the rough scarring on his cheekbone, and traced down towards his mouth. He flinched and she paused, allowing him to grow used to her touch, and then continued on, tracing gentle lines across the battlefield of his face. After a long minute, Sansa felt him grow palpably uncomfortable at her ministrations.

"A face only a mother could love, which is really too bad as my brother killed her not long after he shoved me into the coals," he said.

Sansa didn't say anything, didn't pull away. Instead, she traced her fingers down his face and landed them on his lips. She was certain she felt him inhale sharply, but traced them gently. She wouldn't tell Sandor that his scars weren't bad, that they were hardly noticeable, as she felt sure that lie would not easily be forgiven, but she would show him that she didn't care. Before he could protest, she ducked her head and pressed his lips to her own. Again, he remained impassive, and while part of her wanted to be disappointed, she knew she had to be patient. She ghosted her lips over his and then planted them more firmly, slightly opening her mouth to tentatively touch her tongue to his lower lip. She held her breath, aware that this was the move that had supplanted her during their previous kiss, but allowed it to rush out of her when she felt his lips start to come to life beneath hers. His mouth opened to capture hers, and in one bold movement, he had pulled her to his lap, his arm a solid band of steel around her waist.

He tilted her head back gently with his other hand, pouring himself completely into the kiss. When she gasped and made a small sound, he took the opportunity to skate his tongue along the inside of her lips, which only caused her to moan further, allowing him even better access. He tasted strongly of bitter lemon peel and the taste went straight to Sansa's head. He squeezed her waist, pulling her as close to him as was possible, and Sansa felt herself begin to unravel. Her brain was clouded with pure desire, and she would have done anything for Sandor in the moment, she was sure of it. The longer the kiss lasted, the bolder she grew, and before long, she began to shyly run her hand up his massive thigh towards the apex. She really had no idea what she was doing, but based on what Shae had told her, several light brushes over the pants would not go unappreciated, no matter what the endgame turned out to be. Just as her fingers lightly skimmed over the solid bulge in his breeches, he pulled his mouth away and tilted forward, pressing his forehead to hers and breathing heavily.

"Little bird…" he said, and Sansa knew right away that there would be no more kissing this night. The realization made her unreasonably angry. She pushed away and crawled across the bed behind him, facing the wall.

"Sansa. Look at me," he said, sounding equal parts sad and perplexed. The sadness tugged at her enough that she rolled over to look at him.

"It's not a good idea," he said, sounding annoyed with himself.

"Why not?" Sansa asked, feeling like a pouting child.

"You're a highborn lady, and I'm a dog. I'm not the honorable knight of your dreams. If this were to go further, it would ruin your prospects for a better future once I return you to Winterfell," he said, avoiding eye contact. Sansa thought for a moment.

"If you're not honorable, then why do you care?" she finally said, smirking. He laughed out loud, a sound that Sansa hadn't heard much of, but found she truly loved to hear.

"You make a good point little bird. Fucking terrible time to decide to be honorable, but there it is," he said. Sansa sighed, and rolled back towards the wall. She was sick of her life being dictated by the choices that other people made for her. Deep down she knew that Sandor was right, but there was a part of her that had started turning over another idea for her future in her mind.


	8. Chapter 8

Sandor watched Sansa's thin shoulders rise and fall evenly as sleep found her. He sighed, and took a pillow from the bed, moving to sleep on the floor beside her. As he lay down on the hard floor, he cursed himself for ending the kiss with Sansa. He imagined he would have a much more comfortable bed for the evening if he hadn't. Though, if he really thought about it, that wasn't the true reason he regretted ending the kiss. Sansa had felt so soft against him, and the thought that she wanted to kiss him, that she didn't feel obligated, or as if she owed him something was a powerful drug. Pushing her away (for a second time, no less!) was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do, especially after she had grazed her fingers across his cock… he clenched his jaw, warring between trying to forget the sensation and desperately trying to remember it. He'd been with enough whores that he'd lost count, and even a few women who just wanted to glory of bedding the King's Hound, but he knew with certainty that not one of them had ever stirred this reaction in him. Sleep was a long time coming, and his last thought before he drifted into slumber was of her lips on his.

"Please don't kill him, please!" Sandor shot to his feet, a dagger in his hand, at the sound of Sansa's desperate cries. It only took him a split second to realize that the girl was having a nightmare, and he dropped the dagger to the floor with a clatter, and moved quickly to her side.

"Little bird. Little bird, you're alright. It's just a dream," he said softly. Gentleness didn't come easily to him, but with Sansa it felt right. She woke up thrashing, her eyes wide with fear.

"I… Sandor?" she said, her voice wavering.

"A dream," he said, reaching out to push her hair from her face, but catching himself before he could make contact.

"Every night. Every night I see my father's head. Every night I see Ilyn Payne's awful face and Joffrey looking so pleased and I see it all over and over again," she said, sounding exhausted. Sandor didn't know what to say. He felt a deep ripple of guilt travel through him. In reality, there was probably nothing he could have done to save Stark, but he had stood by impassively. He ignored the warning bells in his head and reached out to place a hand on Sansa's shoulder. Her breathing was slowing to a normal pace and her eyelids were beginning to look heavy.

"It's alright, little bird. I'll be right here," he finally said, moving to return to his pillow on the floor.

"No! Please," she said, reaching out and grabbing his wrist. He looked at her questioningly.

"Please stay. Sleep with me. The only time I haven't had nightmares since that day are the hours I spent sleeping on Stranger with you there. Please," she said, looking at him helplessly. He stared at her for a long moment and then, cursing himself, lifted the sheets and climbed in next to her. Her face was a mask of sleepy surprise as he flat on his back beside her.

"Thank you, Sandor," she whispered, and he tried not to feel like a knight.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Authors note: New chapter! I expect to be updating at least weekly until I finish this story. Thanks to everyone who has followed or favorited, and especially those of you who have reviewed! I'm new to this, so it means a lot! Thank you again, and please enjoy!**_

There were two, maybe three, inches between them, but Sansa's senses were more alert than she could have imagined possible. She already felt calmer having him by her side, but she knew there was no way she would get any sleep if she spent the whole night avoiding touching him in the narrow bed. Giving herself a mental shove, she boldly rolled towards him and nestled against his side, placing her cheek on his muscled chest. She felt him freeze, his breathing stopping for a moment before he spoke.

"Little bird… it's not a good idea," he said, sounding as much as if he were trying to convince himself as he was her.

"Just let me be close to you. I won't take advantage of you, if that's what you're frightened of," she teased, and was delighted hear a small exhalation of air, signifying a laugh.

"Sleep. That's all," he said firmly.

Sansa didn't bother to reply, but instead snuggled closer to him. Despite his solidity, he made for a very pleasant bed partner. She felt as if her body melted into his warmth, and he smelled of lemon peels and the pine soap he had used earlier and something she couldn't identify that must have been his scent alone, dark and masculine. She had truly enjoyed her time dozing on Stranger in front of him, but without the barrier of armor between him, she was free to feel his body against hers at her leisure. She mused that she had never slept with a man before, and the experience, so far, was quite a nice one indeed.

Sandor felt certain he was in hell. Or at the very least, some vicious purgatory. Days ago he would have said he had no honor at all. That night, with Sansa pressed firmly against him, he knew he had been wrong, because he was relying on every last bit of honor he had to keep from flipping her onto her back and fucking the living daylights out of her… but no, that wasn't even right. He didn't want to fuck Sansa, at least in the way he knew. Every single whore he'd bedded in all of his years, he had discarded without a second thought. He felt certain he would never do that to her. If he were to have Sansa, he would want it to be special.

"For fucks sake, get a hold of yourself," he muttered through gritted teeth. Thinking about… making love to her? He wasn't even sure what that meant. Sansa chose that moment to snuggle closer to him, allowing one of her hands to drift across his stomach. Sandor rolled his eyes toward the heavens, searching for every last modicum of self control he could possibly find. It was going to be a long night.

Sansa awoke the next morning feeling completely rested. During the night, Sandor's arm had ended up wrapped around her, pulling her closer to him than she thought possible. Her legs had intertwined with one of his, and Sansa was delighted by how domestic it felt. She could pretend she wasn't engaged to a horrid tiny troll of a king, but instead, a man she trusted and respected, and as it was becoming clearer to her, wanted.

She looked up at his face, studying every detail. In the morning light, his burns looked harsh, but more and more, she was finding it easier to focus on other aspects of his visage instead. He had straight, high cheekbones shadowed with stubble and an aristocratic nose that made him very handsome, in her opinion. Dark brows and lashes framed eyes that she knew were a deep steely grey when open. And his shoulders…. goodness, but they really were the broadest she had ever seen, even wider than his brother, The Mountain's. Yes, she really did find him quite nice to look at. And, she thought to herself, he had excellent lips. A small smile played on her mouth as she reached up to lightly touch his lower lip. The second her finger made contact, his eyes snapped open and he moved so quickly that she hardly knew how his hand had come to be in an iron grip around her wrist.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled. Sansa bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

"Nothing," she said, trying to sound innocent. He narrowed his eyes, and threw her arm away from him as he rolled in one fluid motion out of the bed and onto his feet.

"We need to get moving. We should have left an hour ago," he grumbled, pulling his boots on. Well, there went her domestic dream. Sansa drew her knees up to her chest and rolled her eyes.

"Roll your eyes all you want, we're leaving," he said, blasting out the door. Sansa stared after him, listening to the sound of his boots stomping down the hall. What had gotten into him? Just when she thought she'd moved forward an inch, they leapt back a mile. She was beginning to feel like she'd never understand him. With a long-suffering sigh, Sansa got to her feet and proceeded to ready herself for another grueling day of riding.


	10. Chapter 10

Sandor could tell his sour mood was bothering Sansa. Good, he thought to himself. Let the little bird think he was nothing but a dour villain. It was for the best. Her unfettered optimism even after all she had endured spoke to him as a reminder of her youth and naivete. He would have to be the one who remained aware of the consequences of anything that came between the two of them, because she clearly had decided it was a non-issue. It was just so difficult… Sandor had bought her a horse at the inn, so he at least didn't have to spend his days with her floral scented hair inches from his nostrils, but as she rode ahead of him, the sight of her slim waist, flaring into her hips perched on the saddle was a nagging reminder of the way her body had felt against him the night before.

He just needed to get her to her family. They would pay him handsomely for her and he could forget about her for good. He could move on and work as a mercenary somewhere in the west and she could marry a lordling and have fat babes and nice dresses and a happy life. That had been the plan all along, he reminded himself.

 _Liar_. A voice said in the back of his head. He couldn't ignore it. If he was honest with himself, he hadn't really had a plan when he'd offered to remove Sansa from King's Landing. He had been fighting, as was expected of him, when unbidden, an image of Sansa Stark and practically blinded him. Before he had known what he was doing, he had found himself in her chambers. A sickening feeling of worry had filled his stomach when he'd realized she wasn't there and he had been about to leave when the door had opened and Sansa had swept in, barring the door behind her.

The truth of the matter was, in the heat of the battle, the single mindedness he had been famous for had moved from bloodlust to the Stark girl in the blink of an eye. Finding her and protecting her had become his only motivation on that dark night, and no matter how he cursed himself, the inclination had not left him since.

* * *

Throughout the day, Sansa's mood had moved from confused, to curious, to annoyed… and now she was livid. How dare Sandor treat her like this? All of her questions and attempts at making conversation had been met with bitter sarcasm and Sansa felt like a naughty child being scolded on more than one occasion. It was clear that Sandor was mad at her, and though she supposed she might have an idea as to the origin of his displeasure, she refused to believe that it was an excuse for his behavior.

Fine, she thought to herself. If he was going to act hideously, than so would she. If he thought her some vapid noble girl, she would act one. She hadn't complained about anything on their journey so far, even though sleeping on a thin bedroll in the forest was not something she generally chose to do in her leisure time, and her back ached from the hours they'd spent riding, and her dress was much filthier than she would have liked. But she would be lying if she said there wasn't a time in her life when she would have been completely petulant about all of those happenings, and if Sandor still saw her as that girl, that's who she would be.

"Stoke the fire," Sandor said gruffly, tossing a pile of kindling in her direction.

"No," she said, unrolling her bed and sitting heavily on it. He looked up in surprise. It was the first time he'd made eye contact with her all day and she relished it.

"What do you mean, no?" he said harshly. Sansa blinked back at him, as if she had no idea why he was surprised.

"I'm too tired, and isn't that what you're here for?" she said, primly inspecting her nails.

"What I'm here for?" he snarled, stalking over to the kindling and moving it to the fire.

"I can't be expected to do this on my own, can I?" she said allowing her voice to sound as petulant as she could manage. He stared at her, his face simultaneously a scowl and the perfect picture of disbelief. It only lasted a moment before he turned his back to her and proceeded to completely ignore her.

The rest of the evening progressed in much the same manner, and Sansa's irritation grew until it had reached the boiling point.

"Are we going to hit an inn tomorrow? I don't fancy spending another night out in the woods if it can be helped," Sansa snapped, growing increasingly desperate to draw a reaction from him. As expected, Sandor didn't reply. Sansa felt a deep, all consuming irritation, and barely even realized what she was doing until the small stick she'd picked up off the forest floor hit Sandor in the back, causing him to pause mid-motion. His head turned slowly, and Sansa felt herself frozen, her mouth opened in an "o" shape, absolutely surprised by what she had done.

"Sandor….I'm sorry, I-" she said, her voice shaking with embarrassment. What had she been thinking?

"Please tell me, little bird, exactly what you're hoping to accomplish by being a petulant brat?" he said, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes locking on to hers. Sansa felt her face grow hot.

"If you're going to treat me like a child…" she trailed off. Sandor raised his eyebrows.

"What? You might as well act like one?" he said, his voice poisonous. Sansa bit her lip, looking down.

"Yes," she said quietly. Sandor snorted in disbelief.

"And again, I ask, what is the purpose of this?" he said.

"I was angry! Alright? I'm not a girl anymore. I've been through more than most women twice my age have, and yet you insist on treating me like some fragile child. I know what I want, Sandor, and I'm sorry if it's surprising to you, but you're just going to have to deal with the fact that I. Want. You," she finished, surprised by her own outburst. Sandor stared at her for a long moment, and then, so quickly that she felt she hardly saw the movement, he was across their camp, clutching her upper arms.

"One of these days, there will be no turning back, little bird," he growled. Sansa felt a little shiver of something travel up her spine. Not fear, she realized, but desire. She was about to speak, when his lips crashed down on hers and somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind she realized that perhaps today was the day he was referring to.


	11. Chapter 11

He pushed her hard against a tree behind her and through the wave of astonishment she felt, Sansa was very aware that this kiss was entirely different than the ones she had instigated. Before, he had been so… passive. He had been allowing her to kiss him, but even when he had participated, it hadn't felt like this. His lips were insistent and at some point he had wound his hands into the hair at the nape of her neck. She opened her mouth to gasp and he took the opportunity to trace her lips with his tongue, and then drew away, kissing and nipping down her jaw and neck, making a path to her collarbone, which he accessed by pulling her dress aside at the shoulder.

She bit her lip, inhaling the cry of pleasure that threatened to burst past her lips. She knew from experience that the slightest thing could cause him to change his mind, and that was the last thing she wanted. The feel of his body pressed against hers caused her to shudder. Out of his armor, she could feel every muscle moving and bunching as he claimed her mouth with his. The solidity of him was startling. It was like yielding to a sheer cliff face, and she wasn't sure if she'd ever felt anything as sublime in her life. She finally couldn't help herself and touched his chest tentatively, as if afraid to startle him. When the movement didn't put an end to it, she began to move her hands, exploring his body. She ran her hands over his biceps and shoulders (his shoulders, she was beginning to find, were one of her favorite features) and then brought them back to his chest and feeling slightly devious, started inching them down. Her fingertips grazed his ribs through the rough hewn fabric of his shirt and traveled lower yet.

In one swift movement, quick as sparrows, Sansa slipped her hands underneath the edge of Sandor's tunic, and pressed her fingertips into the muscled flesh outlining his hipbones. The movement caused him to break their connection (he had moved his mouth back up and was gently tugging on her ear with his teeth) and sigh before capturing her hands by the wrists and removing them from their travels in forbidden territory. Sansa was about to protest when he raised her arms and pinned them above her head against the tree trunk with one hand.

"To keep you out of trouble," he whispered roughly into her ear before taking her mouth with his again. Sansa was shocked to find that the movement caused a swell of desire to move through her. She found that she felt entirely at ease allowing Sandor to direct whatever this moment was. Joffrey had been wretched to her and forced several unwanted moments of intimacy on her, so she would have expected to feel trapped, but something about Sandor made her feel certain she could trust him not to do anything she wasn't sure of.

As he continued kissing her, Sansa gradually became aware of the feeling of his hips pressed against hers, and a growing hardness against her stomach (a feeling which made Sansa feel inestimably powerful). A sense of need was growing in her, moving up her legs and into the pit of her stomach. She wanted something so badly she couldn't handle it… the only problem was she wasn't sure what. When Sandor's mouth moved to the hollow right below her jaw, she couldn't help herself from biting out a small moan.

"Sandor, please…" she said, not sure what he was asking, but certain whatever it was, she wanted.

"What do you want, little bird?" he whispered in her ear.

"I want...you. I want you," she said, breathless. He pulled back, his eyes pools of liquid black in the dark.

"You're sure?" he said, his voice both gentle and serious. Sansa stared back at him. Her mind raced over everything she'd been thinking, over her family, Joffrey, King's Landing, sleeping in bed with Sandor, how kind he'd been… the deep, aching pull she felt towards him….

"I'm sure."

The words hit Sandor in the gut, and it took him a moment to steady his breathing. She was prepared to give him a gift, and though it wasn't one he was willing to take entirely (he cursed himself internally at this thought) he could give her something. Without waiting another instant, he swept her up in his arms, and strode across the camp, depositing her on her bedroll near the fire. The sight of Sansa looking up at him, her eyes dark with desire, nearly undid him. He dropped to his knees and covered her with his body, kissing her deeply. Sansa whimpered a little and he pulled back, determined not to do anything she didn't want.

"Don't stop," she said, gripping his shirt and pulling him back down. As Sandor's lips landed on hers again, he was sure stopping was the last thing he wanted to do. 

* * *

**Another cliffhanger! Sorry! The next chapter is where things get REALLY racy, though, so hopefully that's something to look forward to! :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**NOTE: This chapter is definitely rated M so if you're not into that, I suggest you skip. If you are... please enjoy!**

* * *

The weight of Sandor stretched out over the length of her body felt pleasantly heavy, and Sansa found herself wanting to increase the contact as much as possible. She pushed her heels into the ground, raising her hips, pressing into his hardness. He groaned and Sansa grinned against his mouth, delighted by the response. Sansa nearly started when she felt his hand on her thigh, bunching up her skirts, but managed to control herself, scared that she would topple the tenuous balance of whatever was happening.

When her skirts made it to her thighs and she felt the roughness of his fingers on the tender skin just above her knee, Sansa bit her tongue so hard she was surprised she didn't taste blood. As he began to lightly brush his fingertips in a maddening pattern up her thigh, he split her attention in two by kissing back down her neck and slowly pulling the neck of her gown down lower and lower until his lips brushed the top of one rosy nipple. Sansa could no longer control it, and let out a gasp.

To her great pleasure, instead of stopping, Sandor pulled her gown down further, exposing her small breast and increased his ministrations. Sansa thought she would have been embarrassed being exposed this way in front of Sandor, as she was certain he'd seen much more voluptuous women than herself up close and personal, but under his hands and mouth, she felt entirely confident and beautiful, like a woman who deserved to feel pleasure. The feel of his mouth on her breasts had distracted her enough that the sensation of his hand pushing down her silken drawers caught her unawares, and she jerked slightly at the tremor it caused. He paused, and glanced up at her.

"Alright, little bird?" he said, his voice low.

"Yes! I just… it feels…" she trailed off.

To her surprise, Sandor grinned at her in a way that could only be described as rakish.

"Good, perhaps?" he said. Sansa giggled a little and nodded. Feeling brave, she reached up and bunched her hands in his tunic, and started to pull it up. To her disappointment, he stayed her hands immediately.

"Take it easy, little one," he said.

"I just want to feel you," she said.

He stared hard at her for a moment, and then sighed, and allowed her to continue. When his tunic was off, Sansa pushed him away slightly to take in the sight of him. She had been thinking of the way he looked since the night before, but seeing his muscled body again made a slight dampness begin to build between her legs. Sansa was quite certain Joffrey never could have elicited this type of response from her. Uncertain what possessed her to do so, she leaned up a little bit and put her mouth on his chest, traveling light, sucking kisses up to his neck. Sandor made a gruff noise, and resumed the movements of his hand between her legs.

The feelings pulsing through her were slowly causing Sansa to question her sanity. He hadn't touched her at her center yet, but continued to lightly brush his fingers around her inner thighs, skimming past the place she so desperately wanted him to caress. After several more minutes of the treatment, she'd had enough and bucked her hips into his hand. She felt him smile against her neck, and without further teasing, cupped her core, pressing against her with the palm of his hand. Sansa sighed, feeling a simultaneous sense of relief and a craving for so much more. Without realizing it, a whine escaped her and she immediately blushed crimson at her behavior.

Sandor, however, remained unperturbed. After waiting a moment longer, he parted her folds and began to stroke her gently, his finger moving over a place that caused her to release a high pitched keen into this bare shoulder. A burning heat began to grow deep within her, and Sansa began to writhe against his hand.

"Seven hells, you're so wet," he mumbled into her hair. Sansa froze.

"I'm… I'm sorry, I don't know-" she started, suddenly mortified.

"Shhh, little bird. You just don't know your body yet. It's a good thing. Trust me. It lets me do this," he said gently, before sliding a finger within her.

* * *

The feel of her clamping down on his finger caused Sandor to groan. He couldn't help but imagine what the sensation would be like if a different appendage were there instead. He paused when he heard her whimper.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, suddenly worried. He didn't want to do anything to her that would cause even the slightest amount of discomfort. Sansa stifled a giggle.

"No. Definitely not," she said, her voice catching as he moved his finger slowly in and out of her velvety center. He continued to push in and out of her while placing his thumb on her clit, moving it in slow, circles Her breathing grew heavier as Sandor repeated the motions and moved down between her legs, pushing her dress up further. When Sandor leaned down and began to pepper kisses across Sansa's hipbone, moving downward toward her apex, Sansa grew stiff, uncertain of what was happening. Aware of the change in her, Sandor paused, and looked up at her.

"Do you trust me?" he asked her again. The context was entirely different than the last time he had asked her the question, but he was hopeful that she would answer the same way.

"Of course I do," she replied without pausing. Sandor grinned roguishly up at her, pleased with her response.

"Good," he said, before dipping his head between her legs.

* * *

The sensation of Sandor's mouth on her made Sansa throw her head back in ecstasy. She had never felt anything like it in her life. She'd explored her own body, of course, but had never done much beyond a few cursory grazes and strokes. This, in comparison, felt other-worldly. His tongue had replaced his thumb on her clit and his finger remained inside her, methodically moving in and out of her. He occasionally stopped and performed a curious maneuver, curling his finger and putting pressure on something inside of her that made her shiver with desire.

It wasn't long before her mind started to blur at the edges and a deep, hot feeling began to travel through her body, causing her to shake. Seeming to sense her feelings, Sandor switched from lazy circles with his tongue to concentrated strokes and in seconds Sansa unraveled. She clenched her eyes shut, crying out as the sensations hit a magnificent breaking point, dissolving into unbearably sweet tremors traveling from the source of his mouth outwards.

Sandor waited for Sansa to settle before removing his hand and carefully putting her drawers back in place, smoothing her skirt down over her legs. Sansa looked up at him blissfully, and blushed when he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Alright, little bird?" he said, his eyes soft on her face. She found she couldn't speak, too drained by whatever had just happened, so she just smiled and nodded, nestling into his side as she drifted to sleep.


	13. Update

Hey all! So sorry I've been MIA... I started a master's program and have been incredibly swamped and haven't had nearly the time I thought I would to devote to writing! I uploaded the thirteenth chapter out of guilt this morning and immediately got a review saying the chapter seemed strange which was ABSOLUTELY true so I took it down and am working on editing it to keep it in line with the vibe of the rest of the story. Sorry about the bait and switch, but I'll be uploading the edited chapter later this week, and hopefully will be able to post more regularly! Thanks to everyone for reading/following/favoriting/reviewing and sorry again that I've been a garbage can.


	14. Chapter 14

Sandor looked down at Sansa, sleeping peacefully beside him. The dim light of dusk highlighted her face, making the paleness glow nearly blue in the quickly darkening evening. The sight made his heart clench painfully. She was so pure, so gentle. He couldn't believe she'd given him the chance she had… but had he deserved it? Had he deserved her? _No_ , he thought with disgust. His mind was torn in two. The memory of her unraveling beneath his touch was heavenly, but if he took a moment to think logically, he was certain he never should have let it get that far. He imagined they were mere days away from getting her back to her family, and then where would that leave them? She would probably be ashamed of what had transpired between them and he…. well, he'd have to walk away from her. That is, if her older brother didn't try to kill him first. He knew he couldn't leave her out here on her own, so that essentially left him with one choice: he had to put a stop to whatever it was that was budding between them. Sansa deserved so much more than he could give her and if he allowed it to continue, the eventual break would only be that much worse.

A soft sigh at his side drew him from his thoughts. The sound of her sleeping peacefully beside him was suddenly too much to bear and he rose quietly to his feet, careful not to disturb her. He needed to be away from her, her sound, her smell… he found it hard to clear his head when she was by him, and in that moment he needed to exactly that. He left Sansa and quietly moved into the woods, away from the glow of the fire. He had hoped that the darkness of the woods and the clearness of the sky above him would help distract him, but even as he moved further into the woods, inhaling the scent of pine that only reminded him of her, he could think of nothing else. He was doing his best to harden his heart to her when he froze, certain he'd heard something, perhaps a twig snapping, back the way he had come. Back towards the fire. Back with Sansa. He waited a moment longer, and upon hearing nothing was about to return to camp when a shrill cry caused him to break into a sprint.

When he broke into the clearing the sight that met him made his blood grow cold. He immediately recognized four of Joffrey's guards, and then Joffrey himself, standing smugly to the side of Ilyn Payne, who had Sansa in a tight grip, his hand pressed over her mouth. Her eyes were wild and panicked, but as soon as she saw Sandor she sagged with relief against her captor.  
"There's my hound!" Joffrey said brightly, striding towards Sandor. Sandor remained stiff, evaluating his options. If he chose to retaliate, he was openly committing treason against the king.

"When I got word that _my_ Hound had taken _my_ betrothed away from King's landing, I got quite the laugh out of it. I'd seen you looking at her, of course. I can't even say I'm that surprised. I've seen you looking at her. Poor old hound, did you think she'd fuck you if you saved her? Even she isn't that desperate." Joffrey said, his eyes glittering with malice.

Sandor's mind raced. Even if they escaped, Joffrey had now seen them and Sandor knew he would never stop hunting them. Even long after his own interest had waned, he would continue to send men after them. At a nod from Joffrey, Ilyn Payne started to move out of the clearing with Sansa. Sandor made a move to follow them without meaning to. Joffrey guffawed.

"I knew it. Then it will please me to see you watch her raped and killed," Joffrey said, his voice cut with cruelty. He gestured to Ilyn who moved his hand up Sansa's side. Sandor didn't even think before he threw a knife, piercing the grisled knight in his neck with a small dagger.  
"Run," Sandor had time to shout at Sansa before the other four guards were upon him.

Sansa had felt the knife whiz past her face, but was still surprised to feel Ilyn Payne's grip on her slacken. The shock that had frozen her from the instant she'd been roughly awoken by Ilyn Payne grabbing her would have continued to keep her immobile if it wasn't for the single word shouted harshly from Sandor.  
"Run." Sansa felt herself move, launching away from Payne's slumped body, out of the clearing. She had barely made it twenty feet before she skidded to a halt. There were five men, including Joffrey, fighting Sandor. She knew he was capable, but even still, the odds were not in his favor. She was about to turn around and creep back towards the campsite to see what she could do to help when the sound of someone crashing through the underbrush caused her to look around in panic. After a moment, a golden head of hair became visible through the foliage. Joffrey. Sansa turned and fled.  
"That's right you little bitch, you better run." Joffrey's voice came, terrifyingly close behind her. Sansa moved quickly, trying with little luck to keep her footsteps quiet on the forest floor. She decided her best bet was to circle back towards the clearing, hoping to lose him and remain close to Sandor. If they were to become separated, she would be in much greater danger. If they were to become separated, she wasn't sure she could bear it.

"I saw the way you looked at him, cunt. You've let him fuck you, haven't you?" Joffrey's voice pierced through the woods. Sansa's skin crawled. He shouldn't be allowed to talk about her, about Sandor, what they had. It took all of her self control not to turn around and fight him. She had never been strong enough to fight him before, and nothing had changed, she thought. She began to arc more closely back towards the clearing. The sound of metal on metal rang out in the direction of the firelight flickering through the branches. Sansa moved toward it. Joffrey had gone quiet behind her, and Sansa hoped desperately she had lost him. When she came to the edge of the circle of trees, she saw with relief three bodies scattered around the fire. The fourth guard continued to fight, but it was clear that Sandor's skill was greater. Sansa's moment of reassurance was brief, as she heard the snap of a twig too close in the forest for comfort. She looked around, assessing her options, and then hitched her skirt up and scrambled into the low branches of a pine. The rough trunk scraped her legs and her hands were covered in sap, but she was fairly certain she was out of sight. What felt like only moments later, Joffrey came crashing through the trees, alternating between cursing her name and Sandor's. She ceased to breathe when he stopped just a few feet away from her tree. It felt like an age before he plowed back towards the clearing and burst into the circle. Sansa couldn't see what was happening, and only waited a few moments before lowering herself to the ground and creeping towards the campsite. The sickening sound of metal thudding into flesh caused her to burst into the clearing, desperately hoping that Sandor hadn't been the recipient of whatever blow she'd heard.

Her heart swelled with relief when the sight of Sandor standing upright over the cowering guard greeted her. He was alive.

Sandor saw the movement of skirts out of the corner of his eye, and lost his concentration just long enough for the guard to regain his feet and make a hasty retreat out of the clearing, followed quickly by the bastard king. He moved to go after them, but was stopped by Sansa's hand on his arm.

"I've got to go after them. As soon as they get back to King's Landing we'll have the entire kingdom on our trail," he growled, ripping his arm out of her grasp. She grabbed it again, firmer this time.  
"No! We're safe for now. We can cover ground quickly and make it North. Robb will protect us," Sansa said, her eyes pleading.

"I don't need protecting," he snarled, glowering at her.  
"No, of course you don't, but…" she bit her lip, looking worriedly in the direction that Joffrey and his guard had gone. "It feels like tempting fate to follow," she finally said. Sandor rolled his eyes.  
"One injured guard and a weakling boy king. I can handle it," he growled. Sansa rolled her eyes back.  
"Obviously. But you still haven't killed a king. Please don't go," she said,her voice vacillating between irritation and desperation. Sandor stared hard at her. What was she thinking?

She didn't want to lose him. She didn't want to let him out of her sight, not even for a second. It was all so fragile, whatever it was between him, and she couldn't help but fear that allowing him to follow Joffrey would be the breaking point. But she didn't know how to express that without making him believe she thought him incapable. Or making him think she was too desperate for him. For all she knew, she was still a trifling distraction to keep him sated as they moved North. She didn't want to think so, but he hadn't made his intentions clear. All she knew was she couldn't let him go, or he might be lost to her forever, whether by blade or circumstance.

"Please," she tried again. He looked at her long and hard, and then shook her grip off, but didn't move to follow their retreating attackers.

Sandor felt weak, and it was all because of her. He couldn't deny her anything and it infuriated him. It was dangerous, and not just for him, for her as well. And that's what he couldn't stand.  
"What do you think is going to happen, Little Bird?" he heard himself sneer. She looked at him uncertainly.  
"We'll go North. We'll get to Robb and the armies of the north and they'll fight. We'll be safe," she said, her eyes searching his.  
"I don't need safety from the King in the North," he scoffed.

"I know you don't, but-" Sansa began, only for him to cut her off.  
"Fine. Say we're safe," he said, his voice dripping with scorn. "Then what? What do you think will happen when we get to Winterfell? Your brother will repay me for fucking his sister?" he spat out. Twin spots of red flashed on Sansa's pale cheeks.  
"You haven't… _fucked_ me," she whispered angrily.  
"Not yet, but I won't wait forever," he growled, moving menacingly toward her. Deep in his mind, underneath the haze of fear of losing her and despair of never having her, Sandor realized he was digging his own grave, but couldn't stop.  
"Stop! Stop acting like this!" Sansa shouted, angry tears pooling in her eyes.  
"Like what? Like a feral hound?" he said, grabbing her roughly and pulling her against him.  
"No! Like this all means nothing to you. Like I mean nothing to you" she whimpered, her voice cracking. Her blue eyes were huge, and in them he could see a desperation that caused hope to flare in his stomach.

"What do you think will happen, Sansa? When we reach the North and your brother? Truly you must know, there is no hope for...this," he said, his voice low and gruff, but lacking in the contempt he'd laced it with earlier.  
"I have hope. Perhaps it's all I have anymore," she said. His heart beat harder than he thought was possible. Hope was too much to ask for, but perhaps...

Sandor remained silent for long enough that she grew brave. She rose on her toes and lightly touched her lips to his. His body was slick with the blood of those he'd killed but she didn't care, and reached up to grip his shoulders. He remained still against her, but she refused to be deterred and pressed against him. She didn't know if it was seconds or minutes before he moved, but when he did, she couldn't help but let out a sigh. His lips pressed against hers at first tentatively, but then harder, almost punishing her with a searing kiss. He moved like a man possessed, running his hands over her body and pulling her against him so hard she thought she might bruise. And then, just as suddenly as it had began, he thrust her away, rubbing his hands over his face.  
"I've lost all sense…" he muttered to himself. Sansa carefully closed the distance between them again and wrapped her arms around his neck.  
"All of the sense I have is telling me that this is right," she whispered in his ear. Her heart was beating so loudly she didn't hear the sound of boots move into the clearing, and felt her heart skip when she heard a voice speak from beyond the circle of light the fire cast.  
"Get your fucking hands off my sister, Hound."


	15. Chapter 15

Sandor couldn't believe his eyes. It seemed like a cruel joke. Robb Stark, King in the North, stood just inside the circle of their campsite, his eyes dark with anger. At the sound of her brother's voice, Sansa had spun around but was still pressed up against him with her back.

"Robb!" Sansa exclaimed, her voice full and sincere. She moved across the clearing and wrapped her arms around his neck. Stark returned the embrace but his eyes didn't leave Sandor.

"Bind his hands," Stark said, gesturing towards Sandor with his sword. He was at a loss of what to do. If he fought, he might harm some of Stark's men, or worse, Stark himself. He knew Sansa would never forgive him for that. But he couldn't just stand still and be taken prisoner, could he? Before he made up his mind, Sansa spoke.  
"You don't understand! He rescued me! The only reason I'm standing here is because of him, she cried, stepping quickly back towards Sandor as if to shield him. Sandor saw the flash of surprise in Robb's eyes.  
"Sansa...I don't know what he's done but I'm here now… you don't owe him anything," Robb said, cautiously extending his hand towards her, as if she were a frightened animal.

Sandor saw Sansa's eyes narrow and couldn't help but feel a spark of pleasure in his stomach.

"He saved my life and never once took liberties, if that's what you're worried about," she snapped, moving still closer to Sandor.  
"He works for the king, Sansa!" Robb barked out, sounding exasperated.  
"Then explain to me why he just saved my life from Joffrey and his guards?" Sansa said back, her eyes glittering.

"He-what?" Robb said, lowering his sword slightly, looking bemused.  
"Joffrey and his men just caught up to us and if it wasn't for him, I'd be dead, or worse, being dragged back to King's Landing. Look around. Don't you recognize they're uniforms?" Sansa spat, gesturing at the bodies around her. Robb looked down and seemed to see the men scattered around him for the first time.  
"Be reasonable, Sansa. If he can do this, he's hardly the type of person you want as your rescuer," Robb said, furrowing his brow. Sandor bit back a string of choice curse words. Sansa seemed to be on his side and he didn't want to do anything to change that.  
"If you wouldn't do the exact same thing when my life was in danger then I think I'll stay with him, thank you. Sandor?" She said primly, extending her arm to him to take. He hid a grin, and took it, looking up to meet Robb's startled eyes.  
"I go where she goes," Sandor said, speaking at last. Robb's look of surprise moved to anger and then confusion. He looked back and forth between the two of them and finally sheathed his sword.

"Fine. You want to come to Winterfell? I won't stop you. But we _will_ have a conversation about what I just saw. Sansa, you ride with me," Robb said, turning to leave the clearing.

"I have my own horse, if you please," she said, marching across the clearing to where stranger and her mare were tied. Robb stared after her, and then to Sandor's surprise, shrugged in exasperation and left the clearing with a brusque order that they follow. Sandor suspected that his presence was not even close to being forgiven, but for now, he would take what he could get to stay close to her.

They camped in a larger clearing directly off the road, with Sandor and Sansa strategically placed by Robb on opposite sides of the fire. They left before the sun was up, and the ride to Winterfell took the rest of the day. Robb had refused to stop and kept a punishing pace that Sandor couldn't help but appreciate. The grueling speed they were forced to take left little room for conversation, and thus eliminated whatever awkwardness might have been present otherwise. He wasn't particularly keen to have the conversation with Sansa's brother that he knew was coming, especially not on horseback. When they arrived at Winterfell, Sandor didn't even have time to speak to Sansa before she was spirited away by jabbering attendants. Robb gruffly directed him to what Sandor could tell was a particularly cold and tiny set of quarters, that he presumed were quite on the other side of the castle's from Sansa's own.

As he stared at the dark ceiling above him, he couldn't help but wonder, what now? If he wanted more with Sansa, if he didn't want their kiss in the clearing to be their last, he would have to make some very serious decisions, and even more, would have to convince Stark of his intentions. With his thoughts scattered and confused, he drifted into a shallow and troubled sleep.

Robb Stark paced the battlements of Winterfell. He had sent the night guard on watch in, preferring to think in solitude. The sharp coldness of the air usually cleared his mind, but tonight it remained muddy. What was his sister thinking? Loyalty was hard won with the way things were, and as much as he wanted to trust her intuition, he couldn't help but be wary of the Hound. Robb had seen the looks of longing Clegane sent Sansa's way as they rode back to Winterfell, and they didn't please him. The Hound was too old and too cruel for Sansa, but he didn't know if she saw that. He feared that if the Hound chose to pursue Sansa, she would fall into his trap as she had Joffrey's. Perhaps she already had… He needed to leave Winterfell, Robb thought firmly. He would pay the price, whatever it was, but he would not leave his sister to that dog. As King in the North, his will would be so.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's note: Thank you all SO much for reading, following, favoriting and reviewing! I'm sorry for falling off the face of the planet, but work/life got crazy for a bit. I didn't forget about this story for one second, though! This next chapter is p smutty, so if that's not your cup of tea, I suggest skipping! If it is...here you go!**

Sansa stared at the dark hangings above her, her mind racing. She had been scrubbed clean and dressed in a soft nightgown, and everything about the ordeal that had led her to this point said that she should be exhausted, but she couldn't sleep with the thoughts moving through her head. The longer she lay there, the more she realized she couldn't sleep due to the lack of a certain large not-knight by her side. Making up her mind, she pulled her dressing gown from a hook by the bed, and moved on light feet. After listening at the door and determining that there was no guard to her chambers, she slipped out and moved towards the quarters she suspected Sandor had been relegated to. Robb had come to her before she slept and although he seemed to truly relieved to have her back at Winterfell, he still seemed reluctant to accept that Sandor was anything but the villain of the story.

When she slipped inside the room she assumed was Sandor's, she paused, allowing her eyes to adjust to the moonlit chamber. Once she could see more clearly, she had no doubt that the hulking shape in the bed was Sandor. Now that she was there, she wasn't sure what to do. She walked quietly to his bedside, and looked down at him. His face was creased with worry, and the expression tore at her heart. She wanted desperately for him to be at peace, for his face to hold none of the burden she knew he carried with him. Despite her better judgment, knowing he didn't react well to being woken, she reached down and stroked his face. Expecting his reaction, she hardly flinched when his hand closed in an iron circle around her wrist. His eyes snapped open and his grip immediately loosened when he saw her face. He stared at her for a long moment and then dropped her arm entirely, falling back into the pillows, his hand rubbing his face.  
"Hello," Sansa said, immediately feeling like a fool. The word was so inadequate to express what she wanted to.

"What are you doing here little bird," he said gruffly, pulling himself into a sitting position. Sansa boldly planted herself on the edge of the bed, and looked him in the eye.  
"I couldn't sleep," she said, staring at him meaningfully.  
"What do you expect me to do about it? Prepare you a flagon of warm milk? Don't you have servants for that?" he asked, but his voice held little of the scorn that the words merited.

"I couldn't sleep without you," she said quietly. She refused to drop her gaze, but felt her cheeks burn at the admission.

"Sansa…" he said. She was certain she could hear unspoken words in the way he said her name. She bravely pulled her legs onto the bed and crawled up so that she was curled against the length of his body. He was stiff beside her, but she didn't let it stop her. She was pleased to find that underneath the bed's coverlet he was shirtless. She stopped to take in the sight of his moonlit body, hard with muscles and scattered with scars. He watched her warily, not dissuading her, but not reaching for her. After looking her fill, she leaned forward and began to pepper his shoulder and chest with kisses. In one swift movement, he flipped her so she was pinned beneath him and he was looking down at her with hard eyes.  
"What do you think you're doing?" he growled. She looked determinedly back.  
"What I want to," she said. His face was angry, but she could feel his hardness against the apex where her thighs met, and gave an experimental wiggle of her pelvis. His eyes widened slightly, and then just as quickly as he'd flipped her, he rolled off her onto his back.

"You don't owe-" he began, but Sansa cut him off.  
"I know I don't owe you anything. I thought I'd made that quite clear. I'm home. I'm back at Winterfell. I don't need you to keep me safe anymore. Everything I do now is simply because I want to. Because I want you," she finished, finally breaking eye contact and looking away, her face growing warm. She wasn't sure how he felt. She had an inkling, and if his body's reaction to her own was anything to go off, she felt relatively sure he wasn't indifferent to her. But now that he could receive payment from Robb for her safe return, perhaps he would want to take his leave. The idea of him taking his departure from Winterfell caused the air to go out of her lungs. She couldn't bear it. The fear of that loss spurred her to be bold, and without waiting for answer, she rolled on top of him, straddling his hips. She felt him move to unseat her, but before he could, she leaned forward and kissed him, pouring every thought and feeling she had about him into it. He remained stiff and passive at first, but after a few moments, she felt his lips come alive beneath her own, and almost cried with the relief of it.

Sandor could kill himself. He wished Stark would burst into the room and do it for him. He knew better than this. He knew that this would only end in unspeakable pain for both of them. And yet… when she'd said she wanted him….when he'd felt the heat of her womanhood pressed against him, and her lips pressed against his… His mind had gone blank from everything but his own desire. He was about to pull away, when she moved back down to his chest, placing kisses softly over his strained muscles.  
"Sansa…" he said again, almost pleading.

"Don't you get it, Sandor? For so long, I've done what everyone else wanted me to, and look where that got me. Tonight, I'm doing what I want," she said, looking up at him, before dipping her head back down and moving lower, lightly sucking on the sensitive skin over his ribs and then moving towards his stomach. When her lips grazed his hip bone, he jerked but came to a selfish realization: he wouldn't deny her. Not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow, in the light of day he could convince her, could convince himself that they were better off apart. But now, with the feeling of her soft lips traveling lower and her hand moving up the coverlet over his thigh, he decided he would give her whatever she wanted. He was lost in thought and pleasure when he realized that she'd pushed the coverlet down, exposing his naked lower half. He hadn't been expecting company and after a hot bath hadn't been given any night clothes, so he'd climbed into bed without anything on. Now he couldn't decide if the decision had been foolish or auspicious. Sansa's movements had stopped, and he opened his eyes, simultaneously afraid she'd changed her mind, and hoping the same. She was staring down at his member, her eyes wide, but, he thought, not frightened. In fact, he was fairly certain he could see the same need he was feeling pooling in her dark blue irises. Still, he spoke to give her a chance to change her mind.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want," he admitted, feeling intensely vulnerable. Sansa looked up at him, her eyes hooded.  
"I want to give you what you gave me," she said, her voice low with wanting. He stared at her for a few seconds before he realized what she was saying.  
"Sansa…" he said for what seemed the millionth time. He had never in his life tried to convince a woman not to do what she seemed to be proposing, but he still harbored a fear that she didn't truly want to. That she was repaying a debt that didn't exist.  
"Sandor. I. Want. To," she said firmly, before lowering her head.

Sandor thought he might die from pleasure. Her hand was now grasping his cock, and moving up and down with a slight pressure. Her mouth was placing careful kisses along the line of his hip, moving ever closer to the source of his desire. He clenched his eyes shut, and gripped the bed linens with two white knuckled hands. He'd never been harder in his life, and he was afraid that he'd come undone the second her mouth touched him. Just as she seemed to be a breath away from his manhood, he felt her pause. He took a deep shuddering breath, prepared to tell her it was fine, that she didn't have to, but before he could get a word out, she spoke.  
"I've… I've never done this before. I'm not sure I know how. Tell me what you want," she said, her voice breathless. Before he could protest, she dipped her mouth and placed a kiss at the head of his cock. The feeling of her soft mouth caused a deep shudder to wrack through his entire body. When he looked down at her, she was looking up at him, looking mischievous and pleased with herself. Not breaking eye contact, she lowered her lips again and took the head into her mouth. The silky soft feeling of her engulfed him, and he saw stars in his vision as he desperately clung to some semblance of self control. She experimentally bobbed her head up and down, lightly sucking and then swirling her tongue around him. Without realizing, his hand left the bed clothes and tangled into her hair, not to push her head down, but to feel her movements more acutely. When she pushed further down on his shaft and it hit the back of her throat, he couldn't contain the groan that escaped him. The sound seemed to inspire her and she continued with increasing vigor. For the second time in as many minutes, Sandor thought he might die from pleasure.

Sansa remembered recoiling at the thought of what she was currently doing when she'd heard serving maids at King's Landing gossiping about the act, but she was delighted to discover how wrong she'd been. The feeling of Sandor's clenching muscles beneath her hands and his pulsing member in her mouth made her feel inordinately strong, and dare she think it, more aroused than she had felt in her entire life. The sensation of the powerful man unraveling beneath her touch was causing a distinct wetness to pool between her legs. She experimented with her movements, paying close attention to what seemed to elicit a response in him. Smiling internally, she realized she felt more in control now than she had since she first left Winterfell all that time ago.

Sandor was losing control. He could tell his release was imminent under the ministrations of his little bird.  
"Sansa, I'm going to... you can stop, I'll finish," he said, gasping out the words as he felt her tongue move in a particularly pleasant manner. She looked up at him, his length still engulfed in her mouth, a sight which almost caused him to lose himself right then. She slowly pulled her mouth off him but continued to pump up and down with her hand.  
"I'll finish you myself," she said, her voice low and sultry with passion, and without waiting for his answer, put her lips back on him and resumed her movements. Her determination was wildly erotic and with the return of her mouth, Sandor lost himself entirely, waves of pleasure rippling through him, causing him to release into her perfect throat.

The feel of Sandor coming undone spurred Sansa in her movements, and she wasn't surprised to feel his release hit the back of her mouth. When she was certain he was finished, she sat up, and still looking at him, swallowed. Again, she had known what to expect from castle gossip, but was surprised to find that it wasn't at all repulsive. She didn't mind the mild taste of him, and she liked knowing she had brought him to that point. He was breathing heavily, his head back, a light sheen of sweat covering his chest. She crawled up him, and nestled into his chest, feeling a warm glow of pleasure as if it were she, and not Sandor, who had found her release.


End file.
